Ink and Petals
by DeliriousMess
Summary: Jennifer owns a tattoo parlor and she's finally getting some of her life rearranged after almost losing everything, when a new person moves in next door. A man named Duke who just wants to own his flower shop in peace. But with friends like these, who needs enemies?


**A/N:** So there was a post on tumblr that was just like "What if your otp owned a tattoo parlor and a flower shop right next door to each other" and then it talked about switch who would be the logical one for which and now, several caps filled messages later, here I am. Sorry my summary's so Romcom Movie-esque but it seemed fitting.

Running was a focuser for Jennifer. Even when she'd been little and so jam-packed full of energy that even the other kids in the neighborhood couldn't keep up with her.

"Energizer Bunny," her mom called her.

She wasn't wrong. Jennifer always felt like if she wasn't doing something, she'd explode, and thankfully, running was something she could do.

And do well.

Running also let her think, let her gain control of the thoughts fumbling around in her head, and, most importantly, it calmed her down for the rest of the day. And she really needed to keep calm in her work.

No one wants a tattoo from an angry person.

One of her employees, Tina, often talked about how the mood of the person doing the tattooing could actually influence the tattoo itself. Like anger being etched into the piece would influence the person or others who looked at the piece. Same for happiness, jealousy, sadness—anything.

In Jennifer's case, distractedness and barely controlled rage were the two that frequently "influenced" her work.

Tina was very adamant about helping Jennifer to "clear" herself if she was bringing in negativity to the shop—encouraging meditation, "cleansing her aura"—sometimes if Tina beats her to work after her jog, she won't let her in because she's still "vibing wrong." Jennifer had pointed out (eventually, and after she and Tina had warmed up to each other a bit more and Tina had agreed to stop locking Jennifer out of _her_ parlor) that the same could be true of anything that a person makes—souls are like that.

Tina had grinned at that and said, "Ah, there is hope for you yet, Little One."

Jennifer had made sure to squash that nickname before it went passed Tina. Now, most everyone around calls her "Mason" which she much prefers, as it also grants her some ambiguity and androgyny when it comes to certain tattoo-circles. Apparently having a blatantly feminine name like "Jennifer" was enough to discredit her with a few other tattoo artists, and she was getting a little tired of the constant sexism.

She turned the volume up on the dance song she was running to, a new anger having bubbled up in her at remembering the bullshit misogyny she'd had to deal with, and started trying to match her footfalls to the bass as she readjusted her grip on the leash of the blue Doberman that ran beside her. People on the street were generally good about moving out of her way when she ran her route in the city, after all, who wants to get in the way of a short, tattoo covered woman with a running scowl—even if she was wearing a bright pink running shirt and rainbow running shoes. Add in a Doberman to the mix and people on the street were _extra_ considerate to give them a wide breadth of space to stay out of their way.

Thea looked up at her briefly when she felt the shift of the leash and collar around her neck, only to go back to looking ahead of them, panting wildly and tongue lolling. Jennifer had been really into running in middle and high school—even got a few offers for track and field scholarships from a number of colleges. Unfortunately, she'd had other plans for her future, and let her running fall to the wayside to focus on her art.

She dodged a man standing outside an office building, yelling angrily into a cellphone, keeping her pace steady and her hold on Thea's leash tight. Come to think of it, she'd only really gotten back into running when she'd started dating Michael a year or so ago. She hadn't made the connection between her newfound desire to run and her displeasure in her relationship with him at the time, but by the time she'd ended things with him it became clearer—along with plenty of other things about him and their relationship. She liked to say that it was the only good thing that had come out of her relationship with him, and most of her friends had agreed, even if they never did understand her compulsion to be up well before she actually needed to be—often well before the sun was even up—in order to run around the city with only her dog and her music player for company. Holly often grumbled about how she could've worked for a shop that didn't open until nine, "But _no_ , I had to work for the tiny runner who's up at six everyday."

Jennifer would just grin back at her, "You could've been a teacher, right?"

Holly would just shudder in response.

Thea, of course, loved it—but really, she was a big dog in a big city; there weren't a lot of opportunities to go until she was exhausted. When Jennifer had started running again, Thea was right there with her, often pulling her to go faster.

Jennifer rounded the last corner of her route, putting her on the street of her tattoo parlor. It was an already humid summer day, with the sun slowly climbing over and through the buildings and beginning to beat down on her back. She'd gotten fairly good at timing out her runs so that by the time she was running back down her street to her parlor just as the other shops were starting to open. In the summer, as she would pass the shops, she'd usually do it just as the sun was rising; she liked to imagine that when she ran past the stores like this, she was bringing the sun with her and bringing with her their new day. Like the sun was her wings. Probably a foolish thought, she was sure, but we all have our things that make starting the day easier.

Usually, by the time she reached her shop at the end of her run, the sun had more properly taken its place in the sky, and would beat down on her as she walked back into her shop. All of the other stores were meant to open at eight, but in all her years living and working on this street, not once had any of the shops actually opened at eight o'clock on the dot.

It'd start with the bookshop at the top of the street that was across from the last corner she turned on at 8:02. She could usually see the owner, Adelaide, a friend and frequent costumer of hers, flipping her "Closed" sign over to "Open" first thing, and today was no exception. She only glanced at the shop long enough to know that Adelaide was yawning as she flipped the sign, with a mug of something in her hand as she did, her short brown hair sticking out in various directions from sleep. Her three cats slept in the wide display windows of the shop, absorbing some of that early morning sun before people started coming in to pet them. Jennifer wondered, sometimes, if the cats actually realized that the point of the shop was _not_ for various people to come and pet them, but for books. But cats will think what they want. Jennifer waved briefly at the shop as she passed, but she was more than reasonably certain that Adelaide hadn't noticed her.

Next was the music store that was next door to the bookstore, owned by Celli and Abra, a sweet couple who had come to her for an anniversary tattoo last month, at 8:05. Celli, a small Filipino woman, flipped the sign today, all bright colors and big smiles as she looked out at the street. She waved enthusiastically as Jennifer ran passed, grinning broadly and infectiously, causing Jennifer to flash her a quick smile before she had to focus back on her feet and the sidewalk in front of her. Celli often was the one to flip the sign, since Abra was decidedly not a morning person, but every once in a while, she'd see the two of them bustling around the shop in the morning. They often taught music lessons in a backroom at the shop—soundproof, of course, so that their lessons wouldn't bother people in Adelaide's—and some of their clients preferred early mornings, or mid-afternoon, usually after school for the younger students. They both have degrees in music and various instruments—Celli for the love of it, Abra to carry on her family's store—and sold various instruments and accessories, as well as CDs and records. They loved what they do, and loved sharing it with others, and that love infects everything that's played in the shop.

That is, if you believe everything Tina says.

Thea tugged slightly at her leash, pulling Jennifer from her thoughts; she was starting to get impatient to be home, and that prompted Jennifer to run a bit harder as they went.

On the side of the street that Jennifer was on, the next place was the café that was owned by Hispanic woman named Cadence who'd inherited it from her mother when she'd retired two years ago. Usually she passed it at around 8:10, and it was the second to last shop before she was home. Jennifer never usually saw her in the shop when she passed, mostly because Cadence would go to some of the other shops with their coffee orders to help them to start up their days. Jennifer didn't know her as well as she knew the other three—she had yet to come to her for a tattoo and her relationship with her only went as far as her afternoon coffee order—but apparently she and the other store owners on this street had all known each other since they were kids so since she knew three, she basically knew them all.

Cadence was sweet, though, Jennifer knew that much. And she cared deeply about the people in her life. She just…had a very _rough_ exterior that not many people can get passed. Cadence, or _Cadencia_ as her mother often could be heard yelling from the kitchen where she often was—"retired" was an easier word to use than "Her name is no longer on the official documents but she basically is still working there every day"—was a very tall woman who looked how Jennifer was sure most people imagined Amazons to look. She was sweeping in the shop as Jennifer passed, her perpetual scowl already firmly in place, until she heard something from further in the shop and turned to respond to it.

Thea tugged again on her leash, harder this time, trying to pull Jennifer with her into a sprint. Jennifer just let out a breathless chuckle in response, before a song with an even faster tempo than the previous song came blaring through her headphones. She rolled her eyes at the Universe and it's timing, before indulging Thea and sped her pace to match the new tempo.

The last shop before the parlor was the antique store. It was run by woman named Viridian, a pale, freckled thing with thick dark brown hair that was often done up in a sloppy bun, and tired, dark brown eyes that matched her hair. She was a kind woman, quiet as she was, and Jennifer often popped over to her store to find newer and stranger things to add to her collection of "Miscellaneous Inspiration" that she had in her office and tattooing space. Viri had yet to ask her for a tattoo, but Jennifer had told her that the offer was always open should she change her mind.

But there was something going on in the previously vacant shop between Viridian's store and her parlor that was drawing her attention away from her usual neighbor's store. She knew it had been going through some renovations over the past couple of months, but today it looked like someone was finally moving in.

Any other time, she would've stopped and asked one of the movers what was going on; this morning, however, Thea had other plans.

And no one argues with Queen Thea.

She settled for a couple of courtesy glances at the boxes that the movers were working with—a lot of flowers and various other things to tend to and care for said flowers—and gave a polite wave and smile to the movers that she was in the way of.

Thea was pulling desperately at the leash now that home was so close, and Jennifer had no qualms with indulging her so she could get back into her apartment to hop into her shower. Thea danced impatiently next to her while she went to open the door, and immediately lunged for the dish of water that was by the front counter, that Holly, her second in command, was standing at the edge of, scribbling things in the appointment book.

Jennifer bent to undo Thea's leash, pulling out a headphone as she did, when she straightened, she smacked a kiss onto Holly's cheek. Holly immediately groaned in disgust and moved to push her away, "Ugh, God—with the sweat!"

Jennifer just grinned at her as she tried to catch her breath, leaning on the counter next to her, "Morning!"

"Yeah, yeah, and what a morning it is." Holly grumbled, flipping pages a bit angrily in the calendar. Holly wasn't usually so grouchy, but the stress of trying to help Jennifer keep the shop afloat hadn't been doing wonders for her disposition. Jennifer appreciated everything Holly did for her, though, and thankfully she knew it.

Thea, having drunk her fill of water—or at the very least, having sloshed enough of the water out of the bowl to leave it empty—walked away from the pair and climbed on to her chair in the corner of the waiting room under her wall of portraits.

Jennifer had made it a rule, shortly after she'd adopted Thea, that all new hires had to draw a portrait of her in order to demonstrate their skills—and also win over Thea.

"It's Thea's world," Jennifer had often said, "We're just living in it."

Once the portraits were done, if they were satisfactory to Jennifer and to Thea, she had them framed and hung on the wall above the overstuffed armchair that Jennifer had placed in the far corner. It had originally been intended for customers, but it very quickly became Thea's "throne." Thea rested her head on the armrest of the chair to watch the street, still panting heavily.

"Oh c'mon, Hol, the Queen's in her throne; all's good!" Jennifer panted at her, still grinning and gesturing behind her towards Thea, now lounging luxuriously in her armchair.

Holly pushed a water bottle towards Jennifer, shooting her an unimpressed look, while Jennifer enthusiastically unscrewed the top and began to chug it.

"Remember to breathe, Jen. We can't really afford a hospital bill yet." Holly said plainly, still flipping through the calendar. She scratched under her dreads with her pen. Holly had long dreadlocks done in a Mohawk that fell down her back, with various ones dyed a bright red that contrasted against her naturally dark hair and skin. She was wearing black denim cut off shorts, and a yellow t-shirt that had been repurposed into a tank top by cutting off the sleeves and opening the sides. Her clothes showed off her various pieces on her legs, sides, and arms. She was also at least a foot taller than Jennifer, making her a towering force in the shop when she chose to be—and she often chose to be.

Jennifer panted around a mirthless laugh, "Yeah. Don't remind me."

Holly looked at her for a moment before patting her hand sympathetically, her earlier agitation forgotten for the moment. Jennifer's ex, Michael, had previously worked for her as a tattoo artist. Jennifer knew that her first mistake had been dating an employee, but she didn't know how big of a mistake it was until she broke up and fired him for trying to be more of an owner of the shop than he was ever going to be—there were other reasons of course too, but that was the straw that broke the camel's back—but not before he took half her artists with him and left to start his own store on the other side of the city, leaving her half staffed, with only half the clientele that she had previously, and therefore with half as much revenue as she had been making.

Up until last month, she had barely been able to keep the lights on—a hospital bill, even a hypothetical one, was still way out of the question.

Jennifer took another drink from her water bottle, suddenly eager to get back to moving to keep herself from following that line of thought and undoing everything that the run had done for her, "I'm gonna head up and take a shower."

"No, you're not." Holly negated, pulling her hand away and glancing back at the calendar again, "You got a client."

Jennifer gave her a confused look, "Who? And why so early?"

Holly narrowed her eyes at her as she pulled a towel out from under the counter and handed it to her, "Do I look like your fuckin' secretary?"

Jennifer tossed the towel over her shoulder and looked Holly up and down, surveying her, before smirking, "Well. Maybe throw on a short skirt and we'll be closer."

She smack Holly's ass as she turned from the counter, earning her an angry exclamation in response. Jennifer laughed and headed back to her room. There were three doors before hers, and then there were three others around the corner. They'd been empty since Michael's coup, and Jennifer hadn't had time to higher new artists yet. She hadn't even managed to recruit new apprentices. It was only her, Holly, and Tina now, and they were still only just barely making it.

She opened her door to see a man who could very easily be mistaken for a Viking surveying some of the things hanging on her "Miscellaneous Inspiration" wall.

"Sasquatch!" She exclaimed, grinning at the tall, blond man standing in her room, "I didn't think you were coming in until this afternoon. To what do I owe this very early call?"

"Sasquatch" or Dwight Hendrickson as he was usually known, turned and smirked at her, "Just an early morning. Or was it a late night? I can't really tell anymore, Pipsqueak."

He opened his arms to offer her a hug and took a step towards her but she held up a hand to stop him, "Ah-ah."

At his confused look, she gestured up and down her body, "Just got back from a run—you probably don't want any of this sweat on you."

He pulled his arms back to his sides, pointing at her and smirking, "Good call."

"So what brings you here so early?" She asked, momentarily leaning against the doorframe and patting herself down with the towel.

"Like I said. Early morning." Dwight replied, crossing his arms.

"Or a late night." She added, crossing her own arms and mirroring him.

At Dwight's sigh and conceding nod, Jennifer tsked her tongue at him in mock disapproval. She sat on her wheeled stool, patting the dentist-style tattoo chair in front of her as she went, "You _gotta_ talk to that chief of yours about giving you time off—or at least scheduling you better."

Dwight climbed into the chair and sighed, "Right. I'll get right on that—we'll just tell the city to be crime free for a night."

Jennifer made a face at him before wiping her face with her towel and tossing it to the side, "That was exactly my point. What about that partner of yours? Can't she pick up some of your shifts so you can actually sleep? The city won't burn down just because you let McKee do her job solo."

Dwight shrugged, "Jordan's got her own stuff to worry about. And I've been sleeping plenty."

"Uh-huh." Jennifer arched an eyebrow skeptically at him, "Have you spoken to the precinct psychologist recently?"

Dwight narrowed his eyes at her, "I see Claire plenty."

"During actual office hours? You know, you on the couch, her in the chair, a lot of 'And'—," she changed her voice to sound like a daytime television show host who claimed to be a psychological doctor, "—'how, does that make you _feel_?'" She asked as she put some hand sanitizer on her hands before pulling out a pair of black nitrile gloves and putting them on.

Dwight just made a few vague noises in response, earning yet another unimpressed look from Jennifer as she snapped the glove against her wrist.

Dwight rolled his eyes at her, "Oh c'mon—I'm _fine_ Jennifer; even Claire thinks so. Besides, you two talk enough about me that if she was really concerned, she'd say something."

Jennifer simply continued her skepticism as she spun in her chair to pull out the rubbing alcohol and disposable razor to eventually disinfect and shave the tattoo that he wanted her to work with. She and Claire had become friends because of their common link of Dwight—specifically making sure that he was taking proper care of himself—and had eventually evolved into a relationship that caused Dwight more headaches than anything else. Which was saying a lot, given that he was a police officer in a fairly… _unusual_ city.

"I'm gonna tell her you said that," she mumbled to herself, earning an eye roll from Dwight.

The pause as she set out her supplies settled over them both a bit awkwardly until Dwight glanced at her, trying to joke with her, "You smell bad."

"Always the charmer." She replied, smirking despite herself, "Like I said; I went for a run. And I _had_ planned on getting a shower before I had to see any clients today. Look how that went. Now you have to deal with me in all sweaty, post-run glory 'cause you couldn't wait to see me."

Dwight rolled his eyes, "Ah. So this is my fault."

"Lookin' that way." Jennifer grinned. He rolled his eyes at her again before she finally asked, "Alright. So. What're we doin' here, 'Squatch?"

Dwight started taking his shirt off, "The piece for Lizzy."

Jennifer arched an eyebrow at him as he balled his Henley shirt in his lap, "It hasn't been that long since I last looked at it. You sure you want me to touch it up already?"

Dwight nodded, "Yeah I do. I know it hasn't been long, but I was also wondering if we could talk about extending the piece some?"

Jennifer pressed at the skin around the tattoo to look at it—it'd healed up well since the last session a few months ago so she didn't feel bad about working on it. She grabbed some gauze and dabbed some rubbing alcohol onto it, "Just the one?"

Dwight nodded.

Jennifer smiled sadly at him as she cleaned the tattoo, "All 'bout her, right 'Squatch?"

He nodded again, a grim set in his jaw now, "All about her, Pipsqueak."

Jennifer worked in silence again as she shaved then disinfected the tattoo again. Dwight just leaned back, staring into the lights above the chair.

Lizzy was Dwight's daughter; she had died about five years ago in an auto accident that she and Dwight were in. Dwight walked away from the accident, Lizzy didn't. Dwight's wife left him about a year after, the loss of Lizzy, her inability to forgive Dwight, and Dwight's having thrown himself into his work to try to cope all driving the final nails into the coffin of their relationship. That same year, Dwight had come to Jennifer with the idea for a memorial piece for Lizzy written down—Jennifer had come up with the rest, taking a note from Tina's book, and tried to incorporate as much love and compassion as she could into it as she worked on it. The tattoo, for Jennifer at least, was as much about paying homage to the lost little girl, as it was about helping Dwight to heal from his loss.

"All about Lizzy," they said.

Well, at least it was half true.

"So what do you think?" Dwight asked, turning in the chair to direct his voice at Jennifer, as she started mixing the inks that she already knew she was going to need to re-touch his tattoo at the counter.

"About?" Jennifer replied, not looking up from her work at the counter behind the chair.

"Global warming." Dwight replied dryly.

Jennifer glared at him over her shoulder. He rolled his eyes at her, "About extending the piece, Pipsqueak."

"We certainly can," Jennifer said, spinning back in her stool and pushing herself towards the chair again, "Want me to touch up what we got and then we can talk about what you had in mind in the way of additions?"

"Sounds like a plan." Dwight conceded, shifting slightly in the chair to get more comfortable before she started to work. Jennifer spread an ointment over the tattoo before starting the touch up process.

Jennifer had first met Dwight about seven years ago, shortly after she'd opened the shop—it had been a drunk and disorderly call and Dwight had been cop who answered. In her defense, it had been her grand opening party, and that statue in the park was just _asking_ to be defaced. It was in that encounter that she had first called him "Sasquatch"—something she had yelled while initially trying to evade arrest from him; something to the effect of "You can't catch me, you Sasquatch!" and when he _had_ caught her, she kept yelling, "Put me down! Help! Help I'm being arrested by Sasquatch!"—he had called her "Pipsqueak" in response—something to the effect of, "Nice try, Pipsqueak. Maybe try evading the police when you've grown some"—and had tossed her over his shoulder in order to get her to calm down and stop thrashing around so much. It wasn't exactly standard police procedure, but she had evaded his grasp three times prior to that and each time she had slipped out of his arms and led him on a chase for another block or so.

Not exactly her greatest first impression, but the following apology, pastries from Cadence's café, and the promise of precinct wide tattoos at a discount helped a great deal.

A month later, Dwight came to her shop with a design in mind for a tattoo and their friendship grew from there. Since then, they developed a sort of "Big Brother"/"Younger Sister" sort of relationship, made up mostly of snide and sarcastic comments and relentless teasing to mask a deep, platonic affection for each other.

Holly had once asked her why she kept letting "that Dwight guy" into the shop if she hated him so much and Jennifer had given her a confused look, "I don't hate Dwight."

"But you're always ragging on each other!"

Jennifer had just shrugged, "That's just how we are."

Holly didn't ask any other questions about their relationship after that, though mostly because she would say that she couldn't handle another headache like that.

He brought Lizzy to the shop a couple of times before the accident, and Jennifer had gotten to know her fairly well. Lizzy had been a gentle girl who liked to dance and who wanted Jennifer to help her learn how to draw. Pretty much all the girls of the other shops had gotten to know and had grown to care about Lizzy and Dwight—Brielle, the daughter of Adelaide, the bookstore owner, had followed Lizzy around as if she were the coolest thing she'd ever met. Celli and Abra had played music for her to dance to, and offered to teach her how to play any instrument she wanted. Cadence always had her favorite pastry for her when she came by. And Viridian always saved the weirdest new antique she'd gotten until Lizzy came to see it and couldn't wait to tell her about it. They were like family. They had all felt Dwight's loss with him, they had all mourned with him, and every time Jennifer worked on Dwight's piece, she felt that all again. She tried to counter those feelings of loss and regret, with the positive things that she remembered about Lizzy.

Her smile, her laugh, how she would practice her pirouette in the waiting room of the shop while Holly helped her, even how she'd fall asleep curled up next to Thea on the couch while she waited for Dwight to be done. She kept all that warmth and positivity in her mind as she worked.

"To help the healing," as Tina would say.

Tina could be spooky, but she was also often right about a lot of things.

"So what's going on next door? Any word on who's moving in?" Dwight was saying, pulling Jennifer from her thoughts and back to the present.

Jennifer shook her head, not looking up, "No idea. Looked like they were hauling in a bunch of flowers and shit—a botanist?"

"What would a _botanist_ have to sell?" Dwight asked skeptically.

"Botany?" Jennifer replied, already smirking at her joke.

"Wow." Dwight said, incredulously.

"Well, Jesus, 'Squatch, you're the cop! Shouldn't you know who's who and what's what?" Jennifer returned.

"I think you have a basic misunderstanding about what my job actually _is_." Dwight smirked at her, "Besides, you're the one who lives _and_ works here—don't you pay attention?"

"You really wanna smart mouth the woman tattooing you right now?" Jennifer paused in her work briefly to glare mockingly up at him.

"Valid point." Dwight conceded, "But still. You have no idea at all about who's going to be living next door to you?"

Jennifer shrugged and moved to answer him only to be distracted by a light knocking on her doorframe. Jennifer looked up to see Tina standing in her doorway. She was wearing a long patchwork skirt with an oversized light blue t-shirt, the excess of which she had balled up and tied against her right side with a rubber band so that a bit of her midriff was showing. The monster tattoo she'd first gotten done when Jennifer hired her peeked out, grinning, over the waistband of the skirt in the exposed space between waistband and t-shirt. Her long, wavy red hair was in a thick braid over her shoulder, her pale skin was a bit flushed from her walk to the shop in the early morning heat, causing her freckles to become more pronounced thanks to the pink hue that had spread across her cheeks and nose, and her blue eyes were bright in what Jennifer could only read as excitement.

Jennifer grinned at her, "Hey Tina, what's the word?"

Tina grinned, twirling the end of her braid around her finger, and bounced on the balls of her feet, "Good things are coming."

Jennifer chuckled at her, "Can I ask for something more specific? Or is the Universe really enjoying its vagueness today?"

Tina's eyes just sparkled back, her grin widening, " _Good_ things. They're moving in next door."

With that, Tina turned from the door, heading back towards the front of the shop with a literal bounce in her step and calling over her shoulder to Jennifer, "Good things, Mason! Very good things!"

"Thank you Tina!" Jennifer called back, shaking her head as she smiled, and turned back to Dwight and her work.

Dwight quirked an eyebrow at her, "Spooky chick."

Jennifer shrugged back, almost immediately feeling defensive of Tina, "She can be."

There was a pause, Dwight sensing that he'd overstepped a boundary, and Jennifer not really in the mood to get snappish with her friend. The whirring of her needle gun was the only sound between them, before Jennifer decided to throw Dwight a bone and added, "But she's right more often than she is wrong."

* * *

It was busy in the diner.

Granted, it was always busy in the diner, but that was especially the case for breakfast.

Duke sighed to himself as he sat down, once again lamenting to himself that he had to choose a place with the best pancakes this side of the city for his favorite breakfast spot. Duke surveyed the other patrons of the diner around him from his seat at the counter. A pair of kids were fiddling with the jukebox, looking a little devious as they went, prompting Duke to hope that he could get his breakfast before whatever they had planned for the music played. Otherwise, there were a plenty of people in the booths and tables of the diner, and he'd been lucky to snag the seat he had at the counter when he did.

Julia, the brunette waitress who'd been working at the Safe Haven Diner since before Duke had started to go to it, flashed him a warm smile as he caught her eye. She'd started working there, at first, to help to try to wrangle her mother and be there to constantly try to convince her retire already—but as soon as Audrey learned about Julia's baking skills, she refused to ever let her leave. Thankfully, though, last year Julia decided to open her own bakery, and was still more than willing to work with Audrey and Nathan to supply them with various pastries. She and Eleanor were still working on getting the money together, and finding a space, so for now they continued to work at the diner.

Fairly happily too, if he had to guess.

He gave her a small wave in response to her smile, smirking as he did. Julia carried her grin back to the couple whose order she was taking and the disposition of that part of the diner seemed to lighten slightly.

A good smile will do that.

On the other side of the diner, Jack Driscoll, an old friend of his, was taking the orders of an excited group of tourists as they clamored over each other. When Jack caught his eye, there was a quiet plea in his gaze, only for Duke to shrug at him as his way of trying to ask him what Jack expected him to do. Jack just sighed back and plastered a horribly fake smile on his face as he turned back to a woman who was wearing a visor that was straight out of the 90s.

Down the bar from him was a dark haired cop named Jordan, her early morning scowl well in place as Nathan, the brown haired stoic man who owned the diner with his wife, Audrey, poured her another cup of coffee. Duke kept his gaze moving before Jordan noticed him looking and shot that glare of hers his way. They weren't the best of friends—if anything they were more like strained acquaintances and they generally tried to stay out of each other's way. It was too good of a morning to start out with an angry cop lady on his case. Audrey, the aforementioned wife and co-owner of the diner, grinned at him as she placed a mug in front of him and poured him some coffee, "Mornin', Duke!"

"Audrey," he smiled back at her as she absently tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. As she did, another strand fell free from her ponytail, too short to truly be held back like the rest of her hair.

"Shouldn't you be moving?" She asked, setting the coffee pot on the counter and leaning on it slightly, blue eyes bright as they looked him over, "I mean, not that I'm not happy to see you, of course."

Duke gave her a knowing nod as he took a drink from his coffee mug, "Of course."

Audrey arched an eyebrow at him and tilted her head towards him, a signal for him to answer her question.

He just grinned back at her, "Yes, it _is_ moving day; the movers are getting most of the stuff set up for the shop now so that I can just focus on setting up my apartment that's up the street from it—they'll get the bigger stuff from my place later today."

Audrey nodded, "Sounds like a busy day. And what about your boat?"

Duke took another drink from his coffee, "The Rouge is fine—Got her docked at a marina on the north side of town, closer to where I'm moving. Besides, how else am I supposed to bring in those exotic flowers that I'm so well known for?"

"You could try legally." Nathan offered, joining the conversation and wrapping an arm around Audrey's waist.

Jordan left her seat at the counter, passing Duke as she did.

Duke gave her a short nod, "Officer McKee."

She simply arched an eyebrow at him as she passed, "Crocker."

If she had heard Nathan's crack about the questionable legality of Duke's acquisition of some of the exotic flowers he often sold, she didn't make it obvious.

The bells on the door of the diner jingled as Jordan made her way back out to the street that was bustling on the other side of the diner windows. The heat of the street brushed up against Duke's back like a wave with the opening of the door, and was just as quickly replaced with a sweep of the cooled air from the air conditioner as the door closed.

Duke smirked back at Nathan, "Now where's the fun in that?"

Audrey chuckled while Nathan rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek, murmuring to her about how they needed help in the kitchen—Eleanor and Gloria were bickering up a storm, apparently, and they needed Audrey to go mitigate the disagreement.

Audrey sighed, "Of course. Because who _else_ can keep our two chefs from killing each other?"

"The diner can't function without you," Nathan said, smiling down at her.

She playfully narrowed her eyes at him before she turned back to Duke and leaned across the counter to kiss his cheek, "Good luck with the move; if I don't see you before you go, take care of yourself."

"It's just the other side of the city, Audrey, not the other side of the _country_." Duke smiled at her, patting her hand.

Audrey smiled back at him, placing her left hand over his on her right and giving his a squeeze, "Humor me."

With that, she left Duke and Nathan to what she knew would become their usual bout of bickering. She could only keep one bickering pair from killing each other a day, and she'd given up on trying to stop Nathan and Duke a long time ago. At least Eleanor and Gloria could eventually see reason, even if that reason was in a shared bottle of liquor.

After hours, of course.

"So." Nathan sighed, crossing his arms, "You're really doing this."

Duke chuckled at him, finishing his coffee, "Yes, Nathan, I am really doing this."

"Evi really cleaned you out, huh?" Nathan asked, pouring him another cup.

Duke shrugged, smirking mirthlessly, "She got what she wanted—the apartment and the old store front."

Nathan grimaced sympathetically, prompting another shrug from Duke, "Eh, it is what it is. I've been meaning to move the store anyway; look for a new market and clients."

Nathan nodded and mouthed an "ah" in response. Nathan pulled out his small notepad to write down Duke's order, "Alright. Well. What can I get you?"

Duke crossed his arms as he leaned over the counter, giving Nathan the grin he usually does before he started messing with him, "Waffles. Like always."

Nathan sighed exasperatedly, "And, like always, I have to remind you that our specialty here is _pancakes_."

"Aw, c'mon, Nate," Duke's grin widened, "It's my last day here. Surely that warrants making an exception."

They both knew that the request for waffles wasn't an outlandish thing, but ever since Duke had first walked into the diner eight years ago and had sat in this exact spot to ask for waffles, it'd been a part of the dance that he and Nathan did.

Nathan just glowered in response, prompting Duke to lay his arms on the counter and point out, " _Audrey_ would make me waffles if I asked."

"Yeah, well, _Audrey_ is not here— _I_ am. And _I'm_ telling you that our specialty here is _pancakes_. I'll be happy to get you an order of those, if you want."

Duke scowled mockingly, "It's like you enjoy upsetting me."

Nathan shrugged, barely managing to hide his smirk and keep his usual stoic face, "Everyone needs a hobby."

Duke glared at him for another minute before sighing, "Spinach omelet with sausage links and an orange juice—unless you _only_ serve pancakes here, in which case, I'll be happy to take my business elsewhere."

Nathan gave him an unimpressed look as he ripped the sheet from his notebook and turned to clip it on the line that hung in the window between the kitchen and the rest of the diner. There was a brief rising of voices from the kitchen—something about how Eleanor wouldn't know a frying pan from a wok if it bit her, which prompted Eleanor to invite Gloria to do just that. This was followed by Audrey quickly prompting both of them to step away from the fire and the knives and a loud crash of some sort that usually would result in a hushed panic coming across the patrons of the diner, but there were enough regulars there to keep the atmosphere buzzing as if nothing had happened.

Nathan left to go take other orders as Duke called after him, "You're going to miss me, Nathan Wuornos!"

Nathan just waved dismissively at him over his shoulder as he went back to work. Duke chuckled as he turned back to his cup of coffee. Truth be told, he'd miss this place probably long before they started to miss him. He and Nathan actually went all the way back to childhood in the same small town—admittedly it was a bit of a rough shared childhood, but it was a shared childhood nonetheless. When he and his wife Evi had moved here shortly after their wedding, Duke was plenty surprised to not only find Jack Driscoll working at this diner, but Nathan Wuornos as it's owner.

The world just couldn't be _that_ small, could it?

And yet it was. Despite his testaments to the contrary, he didn't mind having those two weak links back to his past there in his new life—it added a good juxtaposition of what he had achieved and what he had left behind. And besides, who doesn't love teasing an old friend after years of not seeing each other?

But now he was staring down the barrel of a true change once again and unless the world was actually shrinking to the size of certain famous theme park ride, he doubted that there was going to be another connection to his past in the new part of the city he was going to. He didn't hold anything against Evi, now that the divorce was finalize—he knew all too well that it could've been much messier than it had been—but that didn't change the fact that this place had been his home for the last eight and a half years. These people were his friends and he would miss the sense of belonging he had here. The new part of the city, where he was moving, seemed to be in a nice enough place—plenty of independent businesses and a good sense community. Something in the community or the people there, made him feel…well, the easiest way to put it was that it made him feel like good things were coming.

Nathan placed the order in front of Duke, earning an appreciative nod from him in response. Nathan just nodded back as well, before quickly moving on to the rest of the patrons. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out as he unrolled his silverware from his paper napkin and opened the new text message. The movers were letting him know that one of the other shop owners next door to him had opened the door for them and they wanted to make sure that they had his "go ahead" to start moving things. He assumed it had been the woman who owned the antique store—not that he doubted the owners of the tattoo parlor on the other side of the shop would've denied the movers help, but he hadn't really met whoever they were yet in order to make that judgment. His new neighbor, the owner of the antique store, a woman named Viridian or something, was a demur little thing and had been kind to him the few times they'd spoken. She'd even offered to introduce him to the rest of the storeowners on the street—apparently they did some sort of karaoke thing every Friday night at a bar a few blocks from the street of their businesses and homes.

And nothing said "getting to know you" like getting drunk and poorly singing a pop song with a bunch of strangers you plan on working with.

Duke ate his breakfast quickly, surveying the patrons again as he did, making small talk with Jack and Julia when they walked passed, and before he knew it, his breakfast was done and it was time to head towards his new home. He yelled a farewell towards the kitchen, earning an appearance by both Gloria and Eleanor—both smiling and wishing him well, their earlier argument forgotten for the moment. Audrey came back out and hugged him, telling him to take care of himself and "so help me Duke Crocker if you go to another diner for your breakfasts while you're over there I will kick your ass." Julia hugged him as well, making him swear that if he found a bakery that had things that were somehow better than her pastries, to save her ego and just not tell her. He told her that he'd only ever eat her pastries anyway, so that wasn't going to be a problem, and she'd grinned at him. Nathan and Jack, on the other hand, both just nodded their farewells at him.

With that, he walked out onto the hot summer street, climbing into his car and heading across town.

He pulled up to the storefront just as the movers were finishing up. He expressed his appreciation for the work they'd done, tipping them a few bucks each for the first move, and gave him the keys to his new and old apartment so they could start on the apartment. Once they were gone, surveyed the store more closely. They actually had most of it set up exactly as he'd instructed them the day before so there was very little else for him to do besides some minor adjustments. They could've been left to be dealt with the next day, but he wasn't really looking forward to unpacking or setting up his new place. Besides, some of the flowers needed fresh water, and a few were getting close to needing to be recut, and he wanted to make a few example arrangements to demonstrate what his shop was capable of. With that in mind, he set his keys on the counter, rolled up his sleeves as he plugged a pair of headphones into his phone to start listening to some music, and started to work.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed but by the time he distantly heard a knock on his front door, he'd managed to make three new arrangements to display in his windows once he officially opened. He turned from the counter to see who could possibly need to be banging on a clearly closed flower shop's door, only to see that it was the woman who owned the antique shop next door, smiling nervously, and holding a food bag in one hand and cup carrier in the other. She was wearing an oversized, brown, sweater that made him think of an old man's sweater, and a pair of brown tights. Duke wondered how she wasn't dying of heat stroke in the thick sweater that looked like it could only be made of wool. She waved at him sheepishly, and Duke smiled and waved back at her to be reassuring. He paused his music, pulled his headphones from his ears, and wrapped the cord over his neck as he went to unlock the door.

She couldn't have been more than four foot six if she was an inch, and she bounced on the toes of her combat boots anxiously as she stood on his threshold, "Good afternoon!"

He smiled back, leaning against the doorframe, "So it is. Viridian, right?"

She nodded enthusiastically and accidentally barked, "Yeah!"

She winced at the volume of her voice before clearing her throat, "Sorry, that was loud. But yeah, I'm Viridian; you can call me Viri though, for short. It's Duke right?"

He nodded, "Yes it is."

Her smile came back at that and Duke found himself immediately endeared by her. He gestured to the bag and coffee in her hand, "One of those for me?"

She looked at the items in her hands as if she'd forgotten they were there, "Oh! Yes! Uh, 'cause, see, our block's kind of—we've all known each other for a long time—like "basically since childhood" long—and that kind of makes us a little clique-ish and that can be really intimidating for new people but you seem like a great guy—you know, the two-odd times we've had a chance to talk and stuff—so I was just thinking that—,"

"Okay, uh, Viri?" Duke interrupted, still smirking at her, "While this is interesting and I'd love to hear more, it is _stupid_ hot out here. Would you like to come in?"

"Oh I'm fine; I'm a lizard." As the words left her mouth, she heard what she said and her horror at herself became clear. She quickly tried to cover for herself, "I mean that I'm a cold person—I mean I don't get hot—I mean stop talking Viridian."

He chuckled at her and stepped to the side to leave the doorway open enough for her to pass through, "Lizard or otherwise, why don't you come inside and share whatever it is you've got in that bag with me."

"Yes that. Let's do that." She smiled, relieved, and quickly walked into the shop, "Because that had been the plan and then I started talking which is never good for me."

She set the bag and cup carrier on the counter, and walked to the other side of it, hopping onto the stool he'd been sitting on when he'd been making the arrangements, and started pulling the items from the bag. She pulled out a container of soup, a sandwich, and a smaller bag of pastries.

He looked at the items on the counter, "So what have you brought for me on my first day here? On your intimidating, clique block?"

She grinned as she placed one of the pastries on top of the sandwich and pushed it towards him, "Food from Cadence's café up the street. Consider this your official initiation."

"I thought my initiation wasn't until Friday?" Duke asked, unwrapping the sandwich and sniffing at the to-go cup suspiciously—it had a spicy-sweet aroma that he was sure he'd smelled before but couldn't quite place, "You know, go to a bar with a pack of women, get horrendously drunk, sing Katy Perry?"

"No one said anything about Katy Perry—I think you're projecting a little bit." Viri chuckled, opening her small soup cup and taking a bite. She closed her eyes for a moment, apparently really appreciating the soup, before she smiled back at him.

"And that's the _group_ initiation," she smirked at him, taking a drink from her own cup, "and before you think the drink I brought you is somehow nefarious, it's a chai latte—you looked like the type, and even if you aren't, consider it to be another part of your initiation—you consume what you get from Cadence, whatever it is."

"Noted." Duke nodded, as he took a tentative sip. He pulled back from the first drink, and Viridian looked at him expectantly. When he nodded in answer to her unspoken question, earning a self-satisfied smile from Viridian, she continued eating her soup. He set the drink to the side to study his sandwich as he asked, "So how many parts are there to this initiation before I can just have my shop?"

"Oh you never get to 'just have' your shop." Viridian said around the cup as she tilted it back to get the last of the soup into her mouth, "We all kind of rely on each other around here to keep our own shops running smoothly."

"So is the initiation ever really over?" Duke asked around a bite of his Panini-esque sandwich.

Viri shrugged, "Sure. It just…we're a hard group to get used to, y'know? We all have our little quirks and ticks that make us work and integrating a new person into our very carefully constructed ecosystem takes time."

Duke sighed. He wasn't completely surprised; it had been a similar situation at his old shop on his old street, but he certainly didn't remember being welcomed into the fold being this involved. "Okay. So how about you fill me in on some of the rules again."

Viri shrugged again, taking a drink from her coffee and breaking off a bite from her rather large chocolate chip cookie, "It's not _rules_ so much as just remembering who's who and what's what."

"What's— _what_?" Duke repeated, letting his confusion be clear on his face.

Viri giggled at him, "Right. Sorry. Look, how about we just go over names? Anything else I could tell you would probably be wildly inaccurate by the time we get you to Shandy's on Friday."

Duke sighed, "And 'Shandy's' would be…?"

"The bar. With the karaoke." She smirked at him, "You know; get drunk with a hoard of women, sing Katy Perry? The initiation?"

"Right." Duke nodded, "That would probably fit under the 'what's what' category."

"Yes," Viri conceded, "and this game show's only going to get more complicated. Who's the owner of the bookstore at the top of the street?"

"Adelaide, right? She's got a daughter named Brielle, and a gang of cats that basically run free. She owns Bouquin Brothers New and Used bookstore, or something." Duke answered quickly.

"That's good!" Viri grinned, "You'll wanna get on her good side—she's got sway over pretty much everyone on this street—and the street over—and the other street—basically this whole city block respects Adelaide."

"Why? Is she blackmailing everyone?" Duke joked, finishing his sandwich.

Viri made a face—something between fear, not being surprised, and the subtle understanding that obviously Duke was joking—before mumbling, "I wouldn't be surprised."

Duke studied her for a moment, suddenly a bit concerned about what he was walking into, as Viridian said, more clearly, "She's just one of those people. She just kind of… _commands_ respect wherever she goes. Her husband was well-loved, too; when he was alive. But, anyway, if you make friends with Adelaide—since her shop is usually one of the first places people go to when they shop on this street—she'll happily have a few of your arrangements in her shop and give you all her new books on horticulture, botany—probably anything plant related that comes into her hands. She's a big believer of the whole 'knowledge is power' thing."

Duke nodded, trying to commit to memory that Adelaide was the one to watch out for. Something about her—even the little information about her he had—felt familiar to him, as if he'd met her somewhere before, but he couldn't place when or where. He decided not to dwell on it—there are stranger things in the world than feeling as if you've met a bookstore owner before even though you haven't.

It was just a feeling after all.

"So who's next?" Duke asked, studying the pastry that she'd brought him. It was just cookie, nothing dangerous about it, but he'd also promised Julia that he wouldn't touch another pastry.

"The owners of the music store." Viri answered. She seemed to sense his hesitance now that all was left was the cookie, and offered him an out, "Look, you ate the sandwich and seemed to enjoy the drink—I won't rat on you to Cadence. Besides, you've already agreed to the karaoke night—it took us forever to finally get Mason there, so you're already way ahead of our last initiate."

She held her hand out to him, "Give me the cookie."

He handed it over, uncertainty still etched into his features, but before he could second-guess himself, Viri devoured the cookie in three bites. Once it was gone, she smacked her hands together to clear it of the excess crumbs and looked at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

Viri rolled her eyes, "The owners of the music store!"

"Oh!" Duke exclaimed, finally catching up to her, "Oh that! Okay—Celli and Abra own Skipped A Beat. It's like Abra's shop but she and Celli are married so it's _their_ shop, right?"

Viri nodded, "They've been married for about a year now. The shop was Abra's parents, but once they retired, they gave it to her. They're a sweet pair, mostly because Celli mellows Abra out and Abra keeps Celli from trusting literally everyone."

Duke arched an eyebrow at her, "So why do I want to be on their good side?"

"Because they decide your fate on karaoke nights. Either you sing something suited to you, to the moment, and that you can actually sing and enjoy, or you're stuck singing 'Barbie World' for the month." Viri shuddered as a memory of such a punishment played out in her mind. She started to gather up the paper bags from their meal and crumple them into the larger brown bag that they'd come from as she continued, "Otherwise, they usually offer a pretty great music selection to play in your shop so that neither you nor your patrons go crazy at the end of the day. And they'll also display your arrangements—but Celli really just likes pretty things so if you give her a free flower now and then—usually with something cute like "Made me think of you"—you'll have her loyalty, and, by extension, Abra's."

"Celli's Abra's weakness, got it." Duke nodded. He smirked at her, "Am I going to need a flow chart for the rest of this?"

She giggled, "Probably not until we all get drunk and start sharing stories. Alright, who's next?"

"Cadence." Duke answered easily, "She owns Mama Caverna's Café which is apparently the only source of food on the street—,"

"The only _good_ food," Viri clarified.

"—and is also the muscle of your group." Duke continued, smirking at her.

"Yeah Cay can be pretty scary when she wants to." Viridian nodded knowing, tossing the now balled up brown bag into the trashcan to her right that was mostly filled with flower clippings. She continued, "And she usually wants to. She inherited her shop from her mother, who continues to work in the kitchen and yell at her in Spanish when the mood strikes her—and the mood usually strikes her. She'll be good to save you money on lunch—since pretty much everyone goes to her for lunch—in exchange for making sure that everyone always tells their customers that if they're hungry to go to her. She'll probably take some smaller arrangements from you to put on her tables which'll be great for getting your name out there. She's sweet enough when you get to know her—and buying the first few rounds at Shandy's will definitely help you to get to know her. She's a marshmallow, really."

"A marshmallow?" Duke asked.

Viridian nodded, "Totally. You get under that hard exoskeleton and she's nothing but a soft, squishy mess. Don't let her fool you. And definitely don't let her intimidate you."

"That won't be a problem," Duke smirked, thinking that that sounded like an old friend of his and bracing his hand on the counter, "Okay. So that just leaves you—what's your story?"

Viri looked at him surprised, "Me? I don't have one."

Duke let out a short laugh, "Oh c'mon—everyone has a story. And in this group, that definitely seems to be true."

Viri chewed on a corner of her lip and picked at her nails for a moment. Duke could see that she was uncomfortable and wanted to offer her an out, "Hey, I'm sorry. I just seem to be learning about everyone else, when you've been like the first friend I've made her and I hardly know anything about you."

She smiled nervously, "No, um, it's okay—I'm just not used to being asked that I guess. Which sounds sadder than it actually is. Um. Okay. Me. My name's Viridian, I have an older brother, Emmett, who's a professor at the University. I inherited Lost Treasures Antiques from my parents who took their retirement back to France where they're—we're?—originally from. And…that's kind of it, I guess."

She kept picking at her fingernails nervously as Duke gave her an expectant look. She pulled back slightly from him as she asked, "What?"

"Well, c'mon," Duke smiled, "What are the benefits of being on _your_ good side?"

Her eyes lit up, "Oh! I can give you really unique vases for some of your arrangements, and I could always use something to brighten up my shop—it gets so gloomy in there with all that old stuff—so I'd love some of these flowers to put around the store. Also it'll probably drive Em _crazy_ the next time he visits but that's just a minor bonus."

Duke grinned at her, glad to see that she'd stopped fidgeting and didn't seem to regret sharing something about herself with him. "Okay, so that's—," he started to tick the names off on his fingers as he listed them—"Adelaide, Celli, Abra, Cadence, you—is there anyone else? Anyone with a _normal_ name maybe?"

Viri smirked at him, "Well you're one to talk about a normal name, _Duke_."

"It's a family name." Duke tried to defend. It wasn't really, but he'd gotten used to using that excuse whenever anyone had asked about it. Truth be told, even he didn't know what his parents had been thinking when they'd named him, but then again, if he was wishing to understand anything his parents had done, his name would not have been at the top of the list.

Viri arched a speculative eyebrow at him, but answered his original question, "Well you haven't asked about your _other_ neighbors."

Duke gave her a confused look, "Other neighbors?"

Viri pointed in the direction of heading down the street, and he immediately caught her meaning of the tattoo parlor that was on the other side of his shop. His eyes lit up in understanding, "Oh! Them! Yeah, what's up with them?"

Viri chuckled at him. Just as she did, a Viking-looking man came from the direction of the parlor, a hand over his heart as he rolled his shoulders in his shirt. Duke recognized him as Jordan's partner—Dwight something.

Interesting.

He was eager to learn what he could about the people or person who owned the parlor on the other side of his shop. During the entirety of his moving process, he'd only really talked to Viri. Not once had his other neighbors come to talk to him, and that normally would've been fine, but given how involved the process of being welcomed into this little community has been thus far, the complete absence of any kind of interaction from his other neighbors was strange.

Viri stretched for a moment, yawning, "Well I don't know how much of Mason you'll actually see—the parlor's only just gotten it's head above water like last month so everyone who works there has been on edge, Mason especially—but you'll probably see Holly, and you'll definitely see Tina."

"And they are?" Duke asked as Viri hopped off the stool.

"Holly's basically Mason's second in command—and the muscle of the shop." Viri explained, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms, "Like, _no one_ messes with Holly. So no one messes with Mason. But her work's really great—she and Mason between them have probably done all of Adelaide's ink—which you have to see to believe it's _incredible_. Tina's another tattoo artist at the parlor—actually the only other tattoo artist at the parlor—but that gets into a story that isn't mine to tell. But Tina's sweet enough—a little spooky, but—,"

"Spooky?" Duke interrupted, turning to lean against the counter with Viri and crossing his arms as well.

Viri shrugged, "It's hard to explain. But she just…she just _knows_ things. Or—maybe not so much that she _knows_ things, but that she says things with such certainty that it's like she knows them for fact. Sometimes it's a little disconcerting. She's very kind though; and is always willing to help with anything you ask from her. Mason and Holly are protective of her too—so never, under any circumstances, call her 'spooky' unless you've been given _expressed_ permission by one of them. It's kind of like their word for her and they don't like it when someone else uses it."

Duke tapped his temple briefly, "Noted. But, okay, so Holly and Tina work for Mason—are there other employee names I should know? Are all employees considered part of the weird sort of collective you all have got going on here? 'Cause I'm definitely going to need a flow chart if that's true."

Viri shook her head, smirking, "No, no. Tina and Holly are just…a special circumstance kind of thing. But that gets into the story that isn't mine to tell."

Duke sighed, "Okay."

"Mason's owned Pins and Needles for about seven years—you should've been here for _that_ initiation. Mason was so drunk—but that's what you get when you try to get in a drinking contest with Adelaide. Mason's a good kid though—smart, respectful, and really adaptable."

Duke nodded. A pause fell over them as Viridian studied her combat boots for a moment. Finally, Duke asked, "So is there anything I should be aware of about this Mason guy? I mean, since he's the only guy apparently in your crew, he must be pretty damn special."

There was flicker of confusion across Viri's face at first before her face lit up with something that made Duke a little nervous. She grinned at him, "Oh Mason's…Mason's _special_ alright. But, uh, why don't we save that for karaoke night? I'm sure you two will get along just…just _great_."

She pushed herself away from the counter and held her hand out for Duke to shake, "Well. Good luck with the rest of your moving, I'm just next door if you need anything."

He nodded back and mumbled a "thanks" in response. She walked to the door and paused in the doorway. She turned back to him and smiled, "I've got a good feeling about you being here, Duke. I think good things are coming."

Duke couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face as he agreed, "I think so too. See you soon, Viri."

"Bye Duke." She grinned, with that she was gone, and Duke was left to prepare for his new life.

If there is such a thing as being prepared for something like that.


End file.
